Magnetic
by RainIsMyFavouriteColour
Summary: What if there was an explanation for the weird tics some of the Seidou team members have? Still set in the canon verse, but with the addition of supernatural powers. 5 mini-standalone stories which may or may not converge at some point (more genres include friendship, family; angst became predominant mostly by coincidence as it's part of how they each discover their power).
1. Sawamura Eijun

_Summary: The ticking's been there for as long as he can remember. He just wants it to stop. Eijun can't stand this ticking, so much like the seconds hand of a clock or a time bomb. He does all he can to drown it out with as much noise as possible._

* * *

 **Time's Up (The Boy Who Hears Too Much)**

The ticking's been there as long as he can remember.

Eijun doesn't know when it started, only that when it did and he told his family that a period of visiting doctor's offices and hearing tests began. They never resulted in a diagnosis. The answer any of them gave was always the same.

"Your son is a healthy, young boy. You should be happy."

"But he still hears the ticking. Can't you give him something for that?" his parents would ask.

"Unfortunately there is nothing else we can do for you. Since Eijun doesn't show any physical or mental issues, prescribing any kind of medication wouldn't be useful in his case. It could potentially even harm him."

As Eijun slowly became more self-aware, he noticed how much of a strain his persistent insistence on hearing the noise was putting on his family. One day to the next, he said the ticking stopped.

"Are you sure, Ei-chan?" his mother asked worriedly, but her hope was obvious. Eijun, barely out of the toddler age and snot-nosed from a mild cold, nodded. His father smiled and lifted him in a bear hug with a relieved laugh.

"Good going! You really had us worried, y'know?"

Eijun nodded; he did. That's why he lied, he thought stubbornly and guiltily. _You shouldn't lie to family, but I just want to see them smiling again_.

So he kept it in.

The ticking became his first, real secret, a constant companion and reminding him every second of every day. It became worse once he started school. It wasn't just a tick every second, but every gap in between too. It became loud, overwhelming, too much. Eijun felt like he had multiple time bombs going off inside his head.

School lessons were the worst.

It was when everyone was quiet or working that the ticking was the loudest. Breaks were the best part of Eijun's day. The silent spell over the children broke as soon as the bell signalled the beginning of a break. Instantly voices and laughter, the scraping of chairs and squeaking of rubber soles on linoleum floors drowned out the noise inside Eijun's head. It wasn't the peace and quiet he wanted, but it was the best he could get.

It became even better when he joined in on the ruckus and so he did. He would even be as loud and obnoxious as he could during lessons when they were too quiet. Eijun figured that trick out during one of the first tests they ever had in class.

It was even quieter than usual during these tests and the ticking louder than ever. Eijun couldn't concentrate; the scratching of pencils on paper wasn't nearly enough to cover the noise. He hunched over, ears between his shoulders, sweat trickling down his back. The ticking wasn't only throwing off his concentration; it was making him scared, though he didn't know of what.

"Ossu, ossu, ossu! Ossu, ossu, ossu!"

Everyone, including the teacher, flinched at the sudden disruption. Eijun got a stern warning (read: got yelled at) to stop, but ignored it. He could already feel the tension bleeding out of him. None of the other children were writing on their sheets anymore. They had all abandoned their tests in favour of watching Eijun in amazement. Noticing this, the teacher finally had enough and threw him out.

Eijun subsequently was sent to the principal and got detention. His parents were called and he got a beating from his grandfather, but he took it all stoically.

Their anger was better than their worry.

xXx

Loudness became Eijun's protection. It got on the nerves of some people, but most discovered the passion and determination that lay beneath his loudness. He relaxed, now that he had the ticking under control as much as he could. He still didn't know why he heard it or what the cause was, but as long as he could drown it out with other noise he didn't mind being clueless.

There was still a part of him that wanted to know, but he suppressed it most of the time.

Eijun discovered what the ticking was when he was 8 years old.

His next door neighbour died suddenly, a kind, elderly woman who had always looked after Eijun when his parents or grandfather were unable to.

Eijun liked her. She told good stories and had a pet dog he was allowed to play with and walk whenever he liked. Best of all, the ticking was calm, steady and _quiet_ around her. It never took much energy or volume to ignore it around her because the dog was barking or either of them was laughing or talking. It went so well that Eijun didn't even notice when the ticking stopped.

The day he found out about her death, he had just come home from school only to find his family huddled together in their living room. His mother was quietly weeping into her hands, her husband hugging her and sobbing rather loudly. Eijun's grandfather looked stoic; only the redness around and sheen of his eyes left any trace of his crying. Eijun dropped his schoolbag in shock at the sight. His grandfather looked at him unwaveringly, as if he could think the news at Eijun. Finally, his mouth moved.

"Obaa-san died in her sleep last night."

The words had been clear but Eijun only heard it as if through a long tunnel, dull and echoing. His grandfather was still talking but none of his words reached Eijun's ears. They went numb.

A week later, the Sawamura family attended Obaa-san's funeral. It was a solemn, quiet affair on a cloudy, drab day, not cold but not warm either. Everyone was silent, save for the priest. Everyone left after having paid their respects. The Sawamuras were one of the only groups to stay longer.

Eijun stared at the picture of her, smiling and happy. He remembered having seen her the day before when he visited her and she had seemed healthy, nothing at all indicating her imminent death. Then it hit him.

The ticking.

Eijun hadn't heard the ticking around her at all yesterday, not when he first greeted her or when he left. It had simply been gone.

xXx

The ticking returned with vengeance once the grieving period was over, as if it had been laying dormant, respectfully distancing itself.

Eijun felt like it was a snake, attacking when he least expected it, a curse he didn't know what he did to deserve it. And so his noisy days continued. They became an integral part of who he is and the days where he wished he could simply be quiet became less and less. He just hoped he wouldn't have to hear the ticking stop for a long time.

The next time the ticking stopped, it wasn't like the last.

It was when Eijun first picked up a baseball glove, stood on the mound and pitched. The space inside his head was wonderfully, peacefully quiet, full of concentration and calm, as he took a deep breath and raised his leg up high like he'd seen pitchers do on TV.

And just for that one long, drawn out moment, when he stepped on the mound and threw his first pitch with all the power he had, the world became a silent place.

xXx

The ticking is still there, like the seconds hand of a clock or a time bomb. Eijun still fears it and now he knows why. It's a gift he never asked for and he doesn't think anyone would. It sometimes still overwhelms him, but then he speaks up, a wide grin stretching from one side of his face to the other or steps on the mound to pitch.

Strangely enough, the ticking has become less noticeable since he came to Seido.

At first, he panicked when he realised that he couldn't hear it around certain people, like Haruichi or Miyuki. He calmed down after a while and now he's almost used to it.

It still doesn't stop him from waking up with a hammering heart sometimes, from a nightmare where all he sees is darkness and all he hears is dull ticking. But for now, Eijun is alright. His friends show no sign of ill health and the ticking still shows up around them frequently enough to reassure him that they aren't going anywhere.

The ticking scares him but the silence is worse. Loudness and noise fill the silence and while Eijun is grateful for the respite sometimes, the ticking has become reassuring. It's neither his best friend or his worst enemy. It just is.

xXx

Sometimes, recently, there's no ticking but no silence either. It's whispers, so quiet and disembodied, half the time Eijun thinks he imagined it. He learns to hide the way he hears the whispers the same way he ignores the ticking after the fifth time he accidentally calls out "Huh?" and earns a particularly painful kick to the head from Kuramochi.

"Stop saying 'huh', you moron! No one said anything, it just makes you look even more stupid than you already are!"

Thinking back on it, the whispers started shortly after he discovered what the ticking meant. It didn't stay long enough to make an impression. It was gone as soon as he heard it. Time ticks away inside his head, sometimes falling silent and leaving room for the whispers to come and go like a barely-there cold breeze.

He doesn't know what it is yet and he's not sure he wants to know. Then again, last time he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to something like this, he got it regardless of what he wanted. He almost suspects what it is, but for now he's unsure. Suffice to say, Eijun will not be too shocked if it is what he thinks.

xXx

Right now, he's more alarmed by the fact that the ticking stops around his friends. He has no clue, not until one fateful evening at dinner following one of their numerous practice sessions.

When Eijun hears of Harucchi's 'fortunetelling', he has instant faith in his friend. It may sound crazy, but so do Eijun's ticks. Who would believe him if he said that he can hear everyone's life ticking away and even know when they will die (though a 24-hour warning isn't very useful, Eijun supposes)? So it isn't much of a stretch for him.

"Hey Harucchi, I believe you." he whispers, wanting to reassure his friend. Harucchi's fringe hides his eyes, but in a bout perceptiveness he suspects that Haruichi may be feeling a little hurt. His mouth opens slightly as if in surprise and then smiles at him.

"Thanks, Ei-chan."

Then it hits him that this could be a prime opportunity to take the wind out of Furuya's sails. Eijun _will_ be the ace, he has no doubt about that. He doesn't need a confirmation from their resident clairvoyant; his conviction is enough for him to never, ever give up on his dream. Still, hearing it out loud...

"So," he starts, trying to sound casual. He glances over at his rival pitcher, mouth set into a determined line, then at Haruichi, "I'll become the ace, right?"

"Of course not. I will." Furuya pipes up, not even having the decency to look at him. "I'm on first string remember?"

Eijun sees red. He jumps up and points his finger in rage, "Just you wait! I'll get on first string, just like I'll be the ace!"

The whole team is so used to the first years' antics by now, no one even reacts anymore. Kuramochi, ever the short temper around his new roommate, loses it first and dropkicks Eijun into silence. Eijun sits back down, been caused sufficient pain, and sulks into his dinner but obediently finishes the mandatory three bowls of rice in silence.

After dinner is over, the first years are the first to leave. Furuya and Harucchi walk in silence beside a chattering Eijun when he suddenly remembers that Harucchi never answered his question. He stops in front of the two of them, hands on hips.

"So, who'll become the ace?"

The only indication of Furuya's annoyance is the very slight rise in his eyebrows while Harucchi can't suppress a small laugh. Eijun still can't see his eyes but his mouth stretches into a considerably wide smile.

"That's for me to know and you to find out, isn't it?" Harucchi answers calmly with a teasing undertone.

 _Tick. Tick. Tick._

Eijun smiles so broadly, it hurts. He still doesn't like the ticking, but in times like these, he's happy to hear it return. Not even Harucchi's mysterious answer, which really isn't an answer at all, can dampen his mood. He throws his head back and laughs, loudly. It feels freeing.

"You win this one, Harucchi!"

They resume walking, but what Eijun doesn't notice is how there's only one set of ticking noises accompanying him step for step.


	2. Kominato Haruichi

_Summary: His brother is his idol; there's no one else he'd rather be like or follow. Haruichi knows he can't. He's Seen it. He Sees too much. It's why he hides his eyes behind a curtain of pink. You can tell from a look at his eyes that he knows what he shouldn't. It's Haruichi's way of hiding from the world._

* * *

 **Meant To Be (The Boy Who Sees Too Much)**

Haruichi thought it was normal. It had never even occurred to him that others didn't see the world as he did - ten steps ahead of the now and aware of the inevitable.

xXx

He first heard about fortunetellers when his family went to a festival. Haruichi doesn't remember how old he was, only that he was chasing after his brother who at that point was still significantly taller than him. He knows there was food, fun games, lots of people in brightly coloured kimonos and pretty fireworks. The thing that most stood out, however, was the fortuneteller. To be honest, he doesn't even remember her all that well, only the awareness he gained after. In his memory, she was a blur of bright robes, tinkling, glittering jewellery and sharp words.

Haruichi's mother was getting her fortune told, a mild smile on her face to hold in the laughter at the faces his father was making at her from behind the fortuneteller's back.

"Aah, yes. I can see here that good things will come your way." She was saying sagely, lightly drawing her finger along the palm of Haruichi's mother's hand. "A long and prosperous life and - oh, see here! - more children, twins, a boy and a girl."

Haruichi listened in excitement but also nervousness. He'd Seen no siblings in the future. He said nothing, just held on to Ryousuke's hand as he had been told while his mother thanked the woman and paid. The Kominato family left the tent, parents laughing while their children stayed silent. But Haruichi wanted to talk to this woman.

"Okaa-san, I think I dropped my coins in there. Can I please go get them?" He asked quietly, eyes hidden. His parents stopped walking, nodding at him.

"Of course, honey. Should Ryousuke go with you?"

Ryousuke had already started moving back toward the tent, used to helping his brother whenever he could. Haruichi was closer to him than his own shadow at times. So he was immensely surprised - and even a little disappointed - when Haruichi vehemently shook his head. "No, I can do it. I'll hurry, I promise."

Without waiting for another word, he turned and quickly slipped into the tent. Inside, another woman was getting her fortune read. Haruichi was small enough that the fortuneteller didn't even notice the tent flap opening and closing.

"Yes, I see only good things. You'll find a husband soon and within your first year you will bear twins, a boy and a girl."

The woman left, overjoyed, and Haruichi stayed hidden until only the fortuneteller was there.

"You lied." he stated. The fortuneteller whirled around at the unexpected voice, clutching her chest when she caught sight of the small, pink haired child from before.

"Jesus Christ, kid. Did no one teach you to knock or something? Coulda given me a heart attack." she mumbled. Straightening up, she drew her shawl around herself, looking down at him haughtily. "What're you doing here anyway?"

"Why did you lie?" Haruichi asked, ignoring the question. The fortuneteller sniffed.

"You're obviously just a pipsqueak, so if you believe in magic I guess that's normal. But we all gotta grow up someday. Magic isn't real." She leaned down, an indulgent smile on her face. "In this business, everyone lies."

 _Magic?_

The fortuneteller laughed and stood, then started coughing. When her fit subsided, she began to make her way into the back. "Everyone lies, kid. Not just people like me, all adults do. And if you say differently, you're a liar too."

Haruichi left the tent, numb. The woman had lied. She wasn't like him. She didn't See the future the way he did, didn't know for certain what would happen.

"Got your coins, son?" his father asked when he came back. Haruichi responded automatically, fishing them out of his back pocket (where they had been all along). Haruichi supposed that it made him a liar, but he couldn't bring himself to care right now. The woman said everyone lies. The Kominatos resumed walking, their children trailing behind them. Ryousuke gripped Haruichi's hand, opening his eyes just a slit wide and glancing at him from the side.

"Haruichi? Did something happen?"

Haruichi only shook his head, keeping his eyes hidden. Ryousuke closed his eyes and said nothing.

xXx

 _"Call the emergency number!"_

 _Lots of screaming._

 _"Oh god, there's so much blood..."_

 _Bright lights, blue, red, white, flashing, illuminating a dark street and crushed car._

 _"Quick, she's dying!"_

 _A woman, strangely familiar, unconscious, on the ground and covered in too much blood._

 _"Initiating in 3, 2, 1 -"_

 _A crowd of people in strange, green clothing gathered around the woman. Her back arches into the air with the force of two, massive, metal thingies on her torso. They make a menacing sizzling sound._

 _"Her condition is stable, but there's something you should know. We could save her life but not that of the fetus..."_

 _The woman, cleaned up now but still unconscious, lying in a bed. A monitor connected to her beeps regularly while zig-zaggy lines accompany the sound on the black screen._

 _'Wait, isn't that - Okaa-san...Okaa-san!'_

Haruichi woke with a start, his shout still echoing in the dark room. Just a second later, Ryousuke burst into his bedroom, hair in disarray. Haruichi started crying, great wracking sobs that wrenched from his throat. "Okaa-san is dead!"

"No, she isn't." Ryousuke said, trying to placate his younger brother. He reached out and hugged him tightly, rubbing his back in circles. "It was just a dream, okay? A nightmare."

"No, it wasn't. I Saw it. She's going to get really hurt." Haruichi's voice sounded muffled against his older brother's shirt, but he reached around his brother as much as he could. "Our sister is going to die."

Ryousuke stopped rubbing Haruichi's back for a moment but then continued. He hadn't known his mother as pregnant.

"Sshh. It's going to be okay." he said quietly. Haruichi said nothing. They both knew it was a lie.

xXx

About three months after Haruichi Saw his mother's accident, it happened. It had been a late day at work today and it was starting to get dark sooner. She had been fatigued from finishing up a long project, so while she was tired, she was still content, humming along to her favourite CD. Her eyes started to drop.

It only took one second of inattentiveness, one momentary loss of control over the steering wheel - and she crashed.

Haruichi remembers the night his father was called with startling clarity. The way they had all laughed together before his father's cellphone rang. The way his father's usually cheerful expression was quickly turned into concern and then overwhelming worry. The way he had ushered them into his car without explanation except "Hurry!"

Haruichi had a bad feeling about this. A sense of dark foreboding with a hint of resignation. He held on to Ryousuke's hand tightly.

Neither of them were surprised when they got to the hospital. Ryousuke only gripped Haruichi's hand even tighter as his lower lip began to tremble and tears started to fall. He knew he was the older brother. But right now, he couldn't be strong enough for both of them.

Haruichi stood still as he sensed his older brother start to cry; not ugly, loud, undignified tears like his own, but silent and strong, composed. He admired him for that. He admired him for crying. Because, right now, Haruichi couldn't. He was frozen to the spot, unable to move or say or do anything. His father made them both sit on the provided chairs while he paced up and down the corridor agitatedly. They got the news a few hours later. Haruichi couldn't hear what the doctor was saying in low tones, but he didn't need to. He already knew.

 _Is it my fault, Okaa-san?_

xXx

Ryousuke knew his brother was blaming himself. Did he See it because he could foresee the future? Was Seeing it the cause for the accident in the first place? Could warning their mother have prevented her from getting into the accident? These were the kind of questions that occupied 10 year old Haruichi's mind, questions too heavy for a child or anyone to bear.

Ryousuke didn't know the answer.

The next death Haruichi saw was the neighbour's cat's. It was old and happy and fat and its owners had been saying for years that it was only a matter of time. The cat had a strange growth on its hindleg which the vet had said could cause it to die soon. But it never seemed to bother it, so the warning was forgotten until it did die. Haruichi Saw the cat's death a few weeks before it happened; he knew it would be a sunny day and it would happen in the afternoon while he was in the backyard with Ryousuke, practising his swings. He knew it would happen, but he still cried, though not only out of grief.

"It's not your fault, you know. I don't think it ever is." Ryousuke quietly told him that night before they went to sleep. Haruichi nodded, smiling weakly. It had been 3 years since the accident, and his mother was completely healthy again, but he still had been blaming himself for everything. Ryousuke smiled back and gave him a kiss on the forehead, something he hadn't done since they were both a lot younger. "Sleep well."

Haruichi did.

xXx

It had been a long, hard day of training for Ryousuke. Almost a whole year had passed, and even though he was confident in his skills, he still hadn't made it into the first string. It was immensely frustrating, but he tried not to show it. After all, he wasn't the only first year working hard or not on first string. He only stopped by his room to get a change of clothing and his towel before going to the bath when a low buzzing sound caught his attention. It was his cellphone, purposely set on silent and about to vibrate off the nightstand. He picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Aniki! Congratulations!" Haruichi's voice greeted him excitedly. Ryousuke frowned.

"For what?"

"For making first string! I knew it would happen!"

Ryousuke nearly snapped at that. Taking a deep breath, he only smiled.

"I'm not on first string."

A slight pause.

"You will be." Haruichi suddenly said, sounding fully confident.

Something warm unfurled inside Ryousuke's stomach. He had learned a long time ago not to doubt what his brother Saw. It always came true. What Haruichi sees is fixed, inevitable events. "Number 6. Starting position as second baseman. One of the best batters on the team."

"Are you sure?" he asked, though he knew better. He heard a light, breathless laugh from the other end of the line.

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

Ryousuke had never sounded more heartfelt or been so grateful.

Haruichi couldn't stop grinning after they'd hung up. He jumped up, snatching his trusty wooden bat from the corner in his room and running toward the backyard. He only had about one and a half years before he could join his brother after all.

xXx

Coming to Seido has decidedly been one of the best decisions Haruichi has ever made. Granted, there's tension between is brother and him. But he knows it would happen and he knows they will grow from it. He isn't worried.

When Ryousuke once accidentally lets slip that Haruichi told him he knew he would make first string, the teams starts to crowd around him. Dinner forgotten, they all want to know what will happen, if they will pass their maths test or not, if they will get a chance to play in matches, if they will a have a girlfriend in high school. Haruichi doesn't answer; he's not used to the attention and starts to go red.

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

Everyone is stunned into silence as one of their quietest members speaks up. From beside Haruichi, Satoru doesn't look up from his bowl of rice as he picks at it. "It was a lucky guess. Kominato-senpai is very skilled, after all. Why wouldn't he make first string?"

Haruichi feels just a bit hurt though he really shouldn't. No correction is forthcoming, the third years keeping their mouths tightly shut. The team slowly dissipates, going back to their respective seats. Eijun shifts a little on his other side,

"Hey Harucchi, I believe you." he whispers, surprisingly quiet for him. Haruichi smiles at him, eyes as always hidden.

"Thanks, Ei-chan."

"So," Eijun starts casually. Haruichi almost laughs; it's obvious what he will ask, he doesn't need to have Seen it to know what his question will be, "I'll become the ace, right?"

"Of course not. I will." Satoru says calmly, taking a sip from his soup. "I'm on first string remember?"

"Just you wait! I'll get on first string, just like I'll be the ace!"

Haruichi smiles into his dinner as the familiar squabbling begins. Of course he knows who will become the ace. But for now, he keeps quiet. They all still have a lot to learn, after all.


	3. Kominato Ryousuke

_Summary: "Open your eyes!"_  
 _Those are the words Ryousuke has grown up with and loathes. If there were no consequences, he would. He wants to see the world, but he doesn't want to see everything else too. At Seidou, no one says anything about it as long as he does what's asked of him. Ryousuke knows there are a lot rumours about why he keeps his eyes shut but he'd rather have rumours floating around than seeing things he doesn't want to see._

* * *

 **I See You (The Boy Who Knows Too Much)**

"Open your eyes." Ryousuke's mother told her newborn son gently, smiling. Her face was covered in sweat and she was exhausted, but happy. Her husband crooned at the baby from her side, holding her hand. The baby was unusually quiet, sniffling softly and squirming a bit, but keeping his eyes closed. A tuft of downy, pink hair sat on his head. His father reached out to gently cup it.

"Let's see those pretty eyes of yours, hmm?"

More squirming at the touch of his father's hand, a bit of grabbing at the air - and he opened his eyes.

They were beautiful, large and round, the colour of a rosy-golden sunset, bleeding into orange at the edges. They stared in shock for a moment, fixed on the two faces above him. And then he screamed.

xXx

"Hyaha, nice running!" Kuramochi greets him as he touches on to the home plate and keeps going until he reaches the bullpen. Ryousuke receives a hard thump on the back for his efforts and he smiles. Everyone is already in their gear, ready for defense, except for Ryousuke and Maezono who's still on second.

"Thanks, Youichi." Ryousuke gives back evenly. "You're looking pretty good out there yourself today."

"How can ya even tell?" he hears Jun calling from the back. Quiet snickers from what he can only assume are the third years. None of the underclassmen would be brave enough to laugh at Ryousuke.

"Haha, Beard-senpai has a point, Nii-san!" Sawamura adds, laughing.

Though there are underclassmen who are stupid enough to do so. He can hear Haruichi quickly trying to get Sawamura to stop, but Ryousuke is already turning his head in the direction of where the first years are huddled together. He can sense them freezing at the sight of the not-so-friendly smile on his face.

"And what is that, Sawamura?" he asks, deceptively soft. Even the third years have gone quiet now; no one in the bullpen makes a noise as they're either too scared or too intent on watching someone (read: Sawamura) get a beating. Ryousuke can hear Sawamura swallow. Ryousuke absentmindedly feels sorry for Meazono; he must be wondering why no voices are coming from the bullpen to either encourage or boo at him.

"Uuh, nothing. He doesn't have a point. That I can see." Sawamura adds hastily, trying to avoid getting two senpais on his bad side. He laughs, a bit too high to be real. "But I'm stupid right? Haha..."

"Ei-chan...please just stop." Haruichi murmurs quietly. Sawamura instantly stops babbling, once again surprising Ryousuke with how much control his younger brother seems to have over the other two unruly first years. He turns away, allowing himself an amused smile at the exhale of relief behind him. "Hey, how about we cheer Zono-senpai on? He looks a bit lost..."

And Sawamura is back to his usual energetic self, shouting out words of encouragement. Ryousuke trudges over to the bench where Kuramochi is already waiting with a cup of water. He accepts it gratefully, downing it in one go.

"How's the betting pool going?" he asks once he's done and sets down the cup beside him. Kuramochi stiffens beside him.

"Betting pool? What betting pool?" the second year tries to sound clueless, but he sounds just a bit too hysterical. Ryousuke sighs.

"You started it, didn't you?"

"What? No, I - "

"I said black." Yuuki's calm voice sounds from the front of the bullpen. He's observing the current batter intensely, but he's obviously still listening.

"Brown." Jun pipes up. He can hear the grin in his voice. "Statistically speaking, I have a pretty high chance of winning, ya know? Most people have brown eyes."

"I didn't know you knew about statistics, Jun." Yuuki says. His voice is calm as always, but to the practiced listener or good friend, the teasing edge is audible. One of the many facts and facets one can learn about the captain or any person by simple observance.

Jun starts sputtering and childishly pointing fingers, unwittingly loosening up the atmosphere in the bullpen before the next inning of their practice game starts. Ryousuke doesn't move from the bench but smiles. The low sunlight behind his eyelids colour Ryousuke's vision a dark orange-red; they feel warm.

Yes, facts about people are observable. But there are also facts that have to be told, not observed. Facts like that the fearless captain of the Seidou team is afraid of a particular shade of maroon-red or has an intense fear of drowning ever since a near death experience as a child. Those are secrets he's never told anyone; no one outside his family knows. Except for Ryousuke. And that is a secret the captain doesn't - or anyone - know of.

xXx

"But you have such pretty eyes! The fringe doesn't have to be much shorter, just a tiny bit. How about it?" their mother tried to convince the younger to get his hair cut. 6-year old Haruichi didn't say anything, but simply shook his head. Their mother sighed, looking at Ryousuke a bit regretfully. She thought he couldn't tell, but he did. "How is it that both my children have been blessed with gifts like your beautiful eyes and yet neither of you wants to show them?"

 _Gifts_ , Ryousuke thought, laughing internally. _If only she knew what kind of 'gifts' we have_. He merely smiles apologetically. She sighed and straightened up.

"Alright, then. The festival will be starting soon. Can I trust you two to get ready?"

"Don't worry, okaa-san, I'll take care of Haruichi." Ryousuke reassured her, taking his younger brother by the hand.

xXx

"That last hit was amazing, Nii-san!" Sawamura tells Ryousuke on their way to the bus. They've just won the game, advancing them another round. "Against such a difficult pitch! No one else could get the timing...how did you figure it out?!"

Ryousuke doesn't know if Sawamura is merely trying to get back into his good graces or if he's genuinely interested. He doesn't care enough to figure it out.

"Practice, Sawamura." he finally says after mulling it over. No one would believe him if he said the truth or able to imitate what Ryousuke can do. Besides, the biggest part of it, he does owe to practice and dedication. "Though I doubt you ever will be able to hit that well, no matter how hard you try."

"Aniki..." Haruichi quietly says from beside the now protesting Sawamura. Ryousuke smiles a little at the tone. On the field, his little baby brother may gain a bit of an intimidating aura in his best moments, but off the field he is just what he knows him as - Ryousuke's younger, formidable but shy brother.

xXx

Ryousuke doesn't remember when he first realised what it is he can do or when he first acquired the habit of having his eyes shut constantly. He knows he's always known it's not normal to know what he does nor the nightmares caused by what he finds out.

A memory sticks out for him, really more words floating around in his head and engraved in his mind than an actual moment he remembers. They're his mother's, uttered once and very sadly.

"I wish you would open your eyes more. I still remember seeing them for the first time, right after you were born. They are so beautiful. Why won't you open them? Don't you want to see this world?"

He knows his mother was being sincere when she said them, but the truth is, he doesn't. He doesn't want to see the world or the people in it, because most things aren't beautiful. They're twisted and dark. It's the rare occasion that he opens his eyes in tiny slits to see and sees something of such purity that it prompts him to look a little longer, to open his eyes fully.

Ryousuke loves his parents, but he knows that even they gave him nightmares. There are parts that most people keep locked away and hidden for their whole lives. Often, they aren't even aware of these darker parts of themselves and they never see the light of day. But he can see them, regardless of if they hide it or not, if they're aware or not. And it hurts and pushes at the boundaries of his own sanity.

The first time he encounters a person of such purity he couldn't help but stare was the day his brother was born. He didn't see Haruichi, the wrinkly, red faced newborn with the same tuft of pink hair on his head he apparently had had. He saw a shining, bright bundle of light, warm and gentle. He saw spring, smelled the fresh scent of tentatively blooming flowers, heard the gentle lapping of water over pebbled stones. He knew of his brother's shy and gentle nature, of his determination and courage, his quiet strength. He knew he would be better than him. He knew of his insecurities and that they wouldn't spoil the purity Haruichi is. And he also knew that Haruichi was like him.

Back then, Haruichi had been vulnerable and so, so pure that an immediate instinct of protection overcame Ryousuke. He knew he had to, needed to protect that innocence and goodness at all cost. It wouldn't be easy, not with the gift Haruichi had, but anything else he could and would protect him from.

xXx

It's been a few years now since Ryousuke has accepted that Haruichi no longer needs his protection. What he needs is experience to grow and even though the process is painful for Ryousuke, he knows it's inevitable.

But right now, he isn't concentrating on what is except for the pitcher right in front of him.

He doesn't open his eyes; years of having them closed has forced him to train his other senses and he already knows everything he needs to know about this pitcher from just the glance he's thrown at him at the beginning of the game. He knows the pitcher's goodness and darkness, he knows his dreams and deepest fears. He knows exactly which kind of pitches are his best and which his worst. He knows the exact angle and speed at which each one of them is thrown and the rest he's calculated in his head, like how long it takes for the ball to reach home plate and which kind of impact it will have on the bat.

Ryousuke's grip on his bat tightens; he opens his eyes in tiny slits as he checks the pitcher for good measure. Yes, he's still going for the kind of pitch he thought. The pitcher doesn't notice the intense look he's thrown; he takes a deep breath, winds up – and throws.

Ryousuke waits, calmly, then swings and hits the ball, strong and true. A clear sound rings through the field as the ball rebounds and flies off into the air.

xXx

"That last swing was amazing!" Youichi enthuses, clapping the third year on his back. Ryousuke smiles; they just had their regular post-game meeting and are the only two left in the room. "Hey now, open your eyes, will ya? This trophy does look pretty cool and you never even look at them!"

Those words haunt him. _Open your eyes_. Maybe he will even indulge his friend just this once. He's a bit hesitant; after all he wants nothing to taint his perception of his friend now. It's funny how he chooses to live in blissful ignorance of people while others would do anything to have a gift like his, to know people as intimately as he does.

But Ryousuke trusts Kuramochi. He's one of the only people he has the desire to truly see. So he slowly, cautiously, heart filled with the fear he knows too well from his nightmares, opens his eyes.

Youichi watches in amazement as the older Kominato brother opens his eyes for the first time since – well, ever since he can remember meeting him. And drops his jaw involuntarily at the surprise of seeing his friend's actual eye colour. They are like the sunset, multiple shades of pink, orange and gold with some undertones of blue and purple.

 _Beautiful_.

That's Youichi's first thought. Then, _no one's winning this bet. I get all the money, hyahaha._

And finally, _Fuck_.

Ryousuke watches in equal amazement. He's prepared himself for multiple possibilities and while he has considered this one, it seemed to be unlikely…but there it is.

Kuramochi is a figure of light. Not the same white as Haruichi, but no less bright. There's dependability and gentleness, so unlike what Kuramochi shows everyone else. There's a feeling of security and calm strength, again different from Haruichi but more visible and it feels blue. Really, maybe that should be Kuramochi's next hair colour. There's rocky terrains and thundering waterfalls, a huge tree with an impossibly wide trunk and an extensive roof, emanating safety. The earth the impressive tree is rooted in is rich and dark, grounded in reality. There's signs of decay in the earth as well but they're so unnoticeable, Ryousuke isn't bothered by them. And maybe, maybe he wouldn't have it any other way.

Ryousuke smiles at Youichi, making the second year's heart jolt and he realises once again just how screwed he is.

Yes, if it's Youichi, a little bit of darkness doesn't seem so bad.


	4. Miyuki Kazuya

Summary: Strategic and coolheaded on the field, a trickster and full of smirks off of it. Seen as logical and unfeeling by some, cutting his emotions off is the only way Miyuki knows to protect himself. Emotions are messy, irrational, too hot, too cold - too much. Especially when they're not his own.

* * *

 **Glass Shield (The Boy Who Feels Too Much)**

Kazuya covertly watches from behind his sports glasses the loudmouthed boy who has just entered the practice field. He's not the only one. Many of the practicing baseball team members have stopped to watch Azuma being challenged by the brash newcomer. No one dares to go up against the monstrous third year and for good reason.

Kazuya can feel Azuma's yellow surprise and mounting red anger from across the field. It's like rancid lemon juice, bitter, acidic, sharp, a bit sickening. Normally, surprise is fresh and one of his favourites but together with burning, sour anger it's not nearly as enjoyable.

"What a moron." Kuramochi says from beside him. His eyebrows are dipped downward, slightly concerned, but there's the beginnings of a grin on his face. Kazuya makes a small noise of agreement as he takes a cleansing sip from his water bottle. What more is there to add?

"Azuma's going to explode."

They watch as exactly that happens. Kazuya surprises them both by standing when Azuma finally falls for the loudmouth's baiting. Kuramochi stares up at him in disbelief.

"Really?"

Kazuya shrugs and stretches his arms overhead. He grins. He can feel a strange, somewhat unfamiliar but not unwelcome yellow buzz of anticipation, warm and a little ticklish, at the base of his throat. It barely takes more than the blink of an eye to brush it away, leaving his skin bare.

"Why not? Either way, someone will get knocked down a peg."

Kuramochi only shakes his head as he watches him go.

As Kazuya plans how to take down Azuma with the newcomer, he doesn't expect to find a particular shade of surprise and even less one he's quickly taken with.

It's vanilla happiness and excited, spiky sunshine blending harmoniously with fresh lemon.

Triumph singes between them, bright red-orange fading to white-gold, when the loudmouth's pitch lands in Kazuya's mitt with a thunderous crack and past a faded-yellow stunned Azuma.

xXx

Synaesthesia, doctors told Kazuya's father when he started primary school and excitedly spoke of his daily adventures.

Nothing serious, nothing wrong with his son who spoke of strawberry praise for a classmate and vanilla-glowing grins, of sour, red anger directed at a friend.

Kazuya kept more silent than he said, like the black-streaked-with-red pain caused by ultraviolet fury and maroon punches. He never talked about standing up for a classmate, paralysed by scraped-raw, orange-red aches or how he passed out from it only to be found by a teacher later, completely unscathed.

As his father tried to explain his condition to him, Kazuya frowned and shook his head.

"I don't get it when _I_ feel stuff." he told his father earnestly, thumping his chest with a tiny fist for emphasis. His eyes were huge behind even bigger glasses as he put his other hand above his father's heart. He could feel the heartbeat underneath, small fingers too short to encompass it all.

The spot felt cold.

Kazuya swallowed, blinking away sudden, grey-ish blue tears and tasting bitter-sad, a lump in his throat and coal-grey worry constricting his lungs. It was almost all he felt at home lately and he wanted it to stop. Sometimes it did, when he tried hard enough, but most times, it didn't.

"I get it when _others_ do."

Home was like a dark, brooding storm, not yet thundering, barely drizzling and entirely too calm.

xXx

Kazuya flexes his hand, glancing down at the palm. It still stings from the impact of catching the pitch, heavy and stable in his mitt. He looks up, shooting Furuya a satisfied grin. The pitcher is still in post-throwing stance, balancing on one leg and face the epitome of stoic concentration.

No one except him and Kazuya know the child-like excitement he feels, running like buzzing electricity beneath his skin and through his bloodstream. He flicks it away from where it tickles his skin when it starts to tinge light blue.

"Nice pitching! We're done for today." he calls over to the mound, standing from his crouch. The pitcher's expression doesn't change but his stubborn refusal spreads across the field tangy green and starts to flood Kazuya's mouth.

"I can pitch more."

The words sound calm but they're tinted with pistachio-brown eagerness. Kazuya flattens his lips into a thin line, mentally reaching for his barrier, cool and impenetrable.

"Just because you can, doesn't mean you should." he replies calmly, keeping his tongue well away from the roof of his mouth. Even after years of this it's still the hardest to control when playing baseball.

He breathes in to centre himself and immediately regrets it. Irritated-translucent red wafts over from Furuya still standing his ground. It smells like smoke and almost covers the thick, sticky feeling of powdery blue fatigue underneath.

"Learn to pace yourself, Furuya." Kazuya tells him sternly, taking off his helmet. He holds Furuya's gaze coolly for a moment, silently relieved to feel the traces of red and green, that irritating itch in the back of his head, fade into nothing. By the time the pitcher looks away, all that's left is steely-blue, cool and hard, solid and quiet.

"Miyuki Kazuya! Catch for me!" Sawamura shouts from the side, dragging his tire behind him. Kazuya rolls his eyes and turns sideways to glance at him. He's immeasurably glad to have retrieved his shield in time for the loudmouth's appearance.

Sawamura is always too loud, too bright, too warm, too full of sunshine yellow. It always suckerpunches Kazuya right in the stomach even when he is prepared because the other first year pitcher takes up as much space as Furuya doesn't.

It leads to on the field synchronicity, a beam of energy connecting them and filling Kazuya. Sawamura tempers his enthusiasm and turns it into a deadly force which enables their battery to obliterate any rival team.

Off the field, he isn't quite as enjoyable to be around or as useful. Off the field, he is _draining_.

Unless Kazuya has his shields up, which he usually does – but around him, he needs to be extra careful. That damn moron is about as subtle and has as much tact as a sledgehammer which, unfortunately, is much too effective in breaking his carefully constructed walls.

"Go run some more if you're not tired enough." Kazuya dismisses him, checking his sport glasses are still where they should be.

He isn't even surprised when Sawamura completely ignores his words in favour of running toward him, tire producing loud, scrunching noises on the ground in tandem with his steps.

"Will you catch for me if I do?" he asks once he stands in front of Kazuya. He isn't even out of breath that much, the brat. Sawamura turns hopeful eyes on him. "I'll never be too tired to pitch!"

Kazuya can feel his honesty and burning enthusiasm knock on his walls, honey-gold and burnished red. He easily ignores them, the wisp-like, tiny clouds of fog barely even fazing metal.

"Well, I'm too tired to put up with you." he deadpans, walking straight past Sawamura. "Go sleep early or something."

"Hey! Miyuki Kazuya!" Sawamura bellows from somewhere behind him. "Don't ignore me! Catch my pitches! Furuya, go away, he already caught yours. H-hey, no! No touchie! My tire! That's – hey, give it back!"

Kazuya can barely suppress a laugh at the first years' antics though he does allow himself a smile, toothy white and pure.

xXx

When Kazuya kept insisting on his not-synaesthesia, teachers started to recommend getting him to see a child psychologist. Emotions couldn't really look like monsters after all and it certainly was no excuse to attack a bully in order to 'rescue him from being eaten!'

"He spends more time talking about it and getting in trouble than in class." the school principal said sternly, watching Kazuya's father from above thin-framed glasses. "Just this morning he started crying and threw a fit when a classmate was reprimanded for forgetting her homework."

"I…I didn't know. I'm sorry. I'll talk to him."

The principal's eyes softened a little when Kazuya's father rubbed his face tiredly; he supposed having a child like Kazuya in addition to his momentarily turbulent home life could be difficult.

"How is your wife, Miyuki-san?"

An exhausted sigh was the only answer, aborted words cut off by an opening and closing mouth, a quiet choking sound and glistening, furiously blinking eyes.

"I'm sorry."

If Kazuya had been there, he would have felt the storm start as the skies began to open up and drench the earth in tears.

xXx

Thunder and lightning struck as Miyuki's mother passed after a year of quiet suffering.

The sky was blue and cloudless that day but the solemn silence among black-clad people surrounding a tombstone may as well have been filled with the steady drum of rain on pavement.

Kazuya could barely stand among the onslaught of rage, sadness and grief, a slowly swirling, sickening shade of violet vortex. He held on to his father's hand, tightening his grip as much as his smaller one would allow as he waited for the answering squeeze. It was an anchor he needed so he wasn't sucked in and lost forever.

The solidness of that adult hand was all he had left but the silent reply never came.

It became harder and harder to stand quietly, the emotions pushing and pulling at him until he shook with the effort of resisting. Kazuya focused on the unstable presence of his father as wind roared in his ears and his heart and breathing sped up, making him dizzy.

Later, after Kazuya had stopped shaking uncontrollably, he resolved to end this, whatever it was. He didn't know how but he had to.

It caused him enough trouble at school and at home. Distancing him from schoolmates who deemed him strange, it earned him frustration from teachers and exasperation from his father when he became too vocal about it to be endearing anymore. All Kazuya had tried to do was lift the heavy exhaustion he carried around with him more and more often.

And now he had lost his mother, the one person who had always listened to him with an indulgent smile and a tinkling laugh. The heaviness drenching his home was already getting worse and starting to drain him; he had his own grief and disbelief to deal with, he couldn't take on his father's as well.

Kazuya was too young to lose his sanity too.

xXx

He learned to draw up invisible barriers, impenetrable walls, around his head and heart. It took time and concentration to learn but eventually it became as easy and instinctual as breathing.

That took care of the first part, treating the symptoms. Next, he had to go right down to the root of his problem.

They didn't prove to be much of a problem and Kazuya almost didn't care, leaving him with nothing but calm. Most of the people he interacted with were his classmates who avoided him because of his 'crazy talk'.

The only other person he was close to was his father who walked away on his own accord.

It was one of the rare moments in his as of yet short life he felt his own pain and not that of others.

It was a deep, infinite black hole, sucking in everything else he felt too until there was just one single thing left, one reminder which throbbed painfully no matter how long it had been.

 _Why did you leave?_

 _I love you, Kazuya._

'Love.'

 _Remember that, alright?_

'What a beautiful lie.'

 _I'll always love you._

'How can you love when you're not here?'

 _I'll always love you._

'I can't feel it.'

 _I'll always…._

'Nothing.'

Kazuya wakes up suddenly, his eyes snapping wide open.

He doesn't remember what love feels like anymore.

There's a hollow ache in his chest, a longing as if there might be an echo of it left somewhere.

He has an inkling it feels warm, like laying in the sun and enjoying the way its rays buzz on his skin. Safe and content.

But he doesn't remember, doesn't know for sure. He doesn't recall peals of laughter, sunny smiles and a large, warm hand holding his. No colour, no taste, no scent.

Kazuya doesn't remember a damn thing.

xXx

"We're partners. You said so yourself, didn't you?"

Kazuya sighs in annoyance and finally turns to face Sawamura. The first year has a determined look on his face, nothing unusual. His eyes are directed at him, burning.

Kazuya smirks slightly.

"My, my. If you're trying to seduce me you're not doing a very good job." he teases, hoping to distract that orange-amber beam of energy crashing against his walls.

With each and every call and shout of 'Miyuki Kazuya!' or 'Catch for me!', his shield has been struck and shaken. What was nothing more than a slight tremor in the beginning has started to become echoing vibrations and causing spidery, fine cracks. It's nothing which can't be fixed easily but it's worrisome.

It scares Kazuya more than anything has in a long time.

He isn't ready to give up his steady, calm centre just yet.

Sawamura's mouth sets in a thin line and he looks away. Kazuya can feel how his energy becomes more subdued, like glowing embers instead of the fireballs he launches.

"Just once. If you catch for me, just this once, I'll leave you alone."

Hearing that promise, one he's sure the first year would keep because he seems like the honest sort, doesn't fill him with relief like he thinks it should.

Kazuya can't feel what Sawamura feels when he says it but he isn't sure he needs to.

He isn't sure of anything, all of the sudden.

 _I'll leave you alone._

Does Kazuya want that?

Something black, infinite and empty throbs in his chest.

He becomes aware of how cold he feels but he isn't surprised. He's used to it by now, or at least, he should be.

Sawamura looks up again and a warm breeze, a whisper of hot air brushes Kazuya's skin. He can hear something that might or might not be a long-forgotten but still familiar laugh.

He is surprised, shocked, but he manages to hide it by turning his head the other way.

It's not an answer…but it certainly points him in a direction. He is still afraid, but he thinks if this is the reward…

Kazuya turns a back bit, just enough to look at Sawamura who is still waiting for a reply. He smirks.

"If you want to be partners, you'd better keep practising, bakamura."

Sawamura's expression lights up, his mouth starting to turn upward in a grin –

"Come back when you're good enough and I _might_ consider your offer."

Kazuya is already with his back toward the pitcher by the time his indignant spluttering starts.

"You asshole-catcher! Just you wait! I'll become so good at pitching _you'll_ be begging _me_ to be allowed to catch for me! Hah!"

The smile on Kazuya's face is small but real as the shouting becomes more distant until it's cut off by a howl of pain and a 'Shut the hell up, Noisymura!'

 _It's a promise._


	5. Furuya Satoru

Summary: Fatigue has settled deep in Satoru's bones, the only constant he has. On a good day, he can tell his dreams and reality apart. On a bad day, he doesn't know what's real anymore. What happens in a dream usually stays in a dream. But for Satoru, it isn't quite so easy.

* * *

 **Distorted Reality (The Boy Who Dreams Too Much)**

A whale is flying through the indigo sky. It's huge and majestic, its fins lazily flapping. The vast blue space it's moving through ripples as if it were water.

Satoru watches it from the bench during a short break in practice, a towel covering his head and sweat dripping down his face. The field is filled with dedicated team members perfecting their swings using wooden bats.

That realisation stirs something within him but he dismisses that strange quiver inside his mind, preferring to continue watching the whale make its long journey through the ocean of the sky. A few wisps of cloudy sea foam stir up in its wake, gathering slowly enough that the storm coming up surprises Satoru even as he sees it building. Wide eyes reflect the dark grey colour the formerly white wisps become, melting together with the whale until the animal is swallowed up completely.

Suddenly, Satoru is afraid. Gone is the peaceful creature, leaving that massive storm behind. The mild breeze from before nearly knocks him off the bench and what felt heat relieving before, now makes him feel cold. He realises the field is empty, completely void of any people or baseball equipment. Satoru looks up again on reflex, just in time to see a flash of lightning behind the dark clouds, illuminating the outline of a great whale. He waits, tense, knowing that the loud sound of thunder will soon follow -

Satoru wakes, a loud and shrill beeping next to his ear. He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment, stunned.

The alarm goes ignored for a few more seconds until he receives a not so gentle kick into the mattress from the lower bunk.

"Hey, Furuya, turn it off! Some of us don't follow the same schedule as you!"

Ignoring the annoyed mumblings from below him, he slowly reaches over to his side to shut off his alarm.

 _So that was a dream._

He sits up and slowly starts to make his way down the ladder to get ready for his morning run.

Outside, Satoru stretches his arms above his head, joints cracking. The sound vaguely reminds him of very distant, very quiet thunder. He lowers his arms and starts toward the running track.

Satoru fleetingly glances upward when he arrives at the track. The sky is dawning, a light pink breaking through satin-y navy blue.

There are no clouds or a whale in sight.

xXx

There used to be a time when he enjoyed this. Satoru would have the craziest adventures, riding on the backs of mythological creatures and seeing the impossible. Occasionally, he would bring home souvenirs and meet people he would become friends with for the duration of a dream, or at least what they would tell him was a dream. He loved his friends, every single one of them, even if he only met them once, even if they never believed him to exist outside of their subconscious.

Satoru looked for them every night but never found anyone again, never met the same person twice.

It hurt more than it should have because he had always been one of those people who didn't make friends easily.

xXx

The day Satoru lost his trust and enjoyment in his dreams was the day his grandmother died. He had been picking apples with her in his grandparents' orchard when she suddenly let go of his hand.

The basket of apples fell out of her grasp and the red fruits tumbled to the ground in an irregular rhythm reminiscent of drums. The ground turned grey where they touched the grass and the apples dissolved into dark puddles.

Satoru could only watch in shock, mouth open and unable to move. Once he was able to, he crouched down with one hand curiously reaching toward a puddle. He looked sideways, searching for his grandmother – except that she wasn't there.

Later, Satoru's parents received a phone call, starting with a cheerful "Hello, otou-san!", continuing in hushed voices and ending in gasps and crying. Satoru didn't understand what had happened. No one would explain it to him until a few hours later, his nanny taking him aside to tell him his grandmother had passed.

Satoru said nothing but he remembered with startling clarity the vivid red on his hands when he woke up earlier that day.

xXx

His dreams started to turn into nightmares, often causing him to scream and cry in his sleep. His parents took him to a doctor who referred them to a specialist but the visits didn't help. They never did. No matter how many professionals, therapists or psychologists they went to see after that, no one was able to offer a cure.

His parents only saw the exhausted rings underneath their son's eyes, how emotionally fragile he was and those mysterious scratches and other injuries that kept appearing on his body in various places. Satoru swore to them that he hadn't done it to himself nor was he having trouble with his classmates.

To this day, he doesn't know if they believed him.

It became increasingly difficult for Satoru to tell apart the times when he was truly asleep and dreaming from those when he was awake. This was in no small part due to his constant exhaustion.

It was some time after his grandmother's death when his grandfather introduced him to baseball. Satoru had seen the neighbourhood children play it but never dared to ask to join in - he was much too shy and besides, it looked a bit dangerous. But when his grandfather came to him, insisting he should learn how to play, Satoru couldn't refuse.

The first few times, they only tossed one of the numerous baseballs his grandfather had back and forth between them, a practice which was apparently called 'catch'. After a few weeks of this, Satoru's grandfather didn't end their session of catch as he usually did. Instead, he stepped further away from Satoru and crouched down, holding his mitt to his chest.

"Throw the ball to the mitt, Satoru." he told him, unmoving while Satoru blinked at him in surprise. Receiving no further instruction, he did as he was told - and missed by a good few meters. After his grandfather got the ball back, he came toward Satoru and showed him how to throw properly, doing a 'wind-up' which would help him 'pitch'.

It took another couple of hours of uninterrupted practice (which neither seemed to mind or notice) until Satoru managed to do a semi-proper wind-up and pitch the ball to his grandfather's mitt. Granted, it had been by luck more than actual skill, but the sound of the ball's impact on the leather glove resounded in Satoru's ears, loud, firm, real. He stared at the ball in awe, then his tingling hand and finally up at his grandfather.

He was smiling, genuinely smiling, for the first time since his wife's death.

That night, Satoru slept peacefully and didn't even wake once. In the morning, he remembered the pitch from the previous day and his hand tingled warmly at the memory.

xXx

When there's a commotion at dinner, Satoru doesn't even blink at the cause.

He's experienced stranger things than one of his friends (and that's almost stranger to him than the actual event) accidentally revealing he can See the future. But then the team starts to crowd around their table, eagerly demanding answers. So while Satoru does like the camraderie that's been building between them, he still values his space. Besides, a glance at Haruichi tells him that his friend isn't feeling all that comfortable either.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" he finally interrupts the chattering. He doesn't look up as he speaks. He doesn't like being in the centre of attention, like he undoubtedly is now. He can feel everyone's stares on him and it makes his skin prickle. Still, he continues, picking at his bowl of rice to distract himself. "It was a lucky guess. Kominato-senpai is very skilled, after all. Why wouldn't he make first string?"

Silence greets his words and the crowd slowly scatters. Satoru lets out a silent, relieved breath.

Sawamura shifts on Haruichi's other side.

"Hey Harucchi, I believe you." he whispers.

It's uncharacteristically quiet for him and it almost convinces Satoru that this must be a dream.

Haruichi thanks him just as quietly, except it's typical for him. And then Sawamura asks his own question, a prediction of the future, that makes Satoru want to roll his eyes.

"So, I'll become the ace, right?"

He doesn't give into his urge but he can't stop himself from interjecting.

"Of course not. I will. I'm on first string remember?"

Predictably, Sawamura starts protesting in his usual loud manner and, also predictably, it's Kuramochi-senpai who shuts him up.

A little bit of pain doesn't seem to be enough to keep him permanently quiet though because when the three of them make their way back to the dorms after dinner, Sawamura asks once again.

There's another silence but it feels less tense than before. Satoru does nothing to break it. If this is a dream, he hasn't had one this peaceful in a long while. He's curious to see how it plays out.

Haruichi only gives a cryptic answer which really isn't an answer at all. Sawamura starts laughing and it's infectious enough to put a real, if small, smile on Satoru's face.

He wishes he would have more dreams like this.

xXx

At practice, Satoru overhears Haruichi talking to his older brother.

"I had a pretty cool dream the other night, aniki."

"Oh? Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine." the younger Kominato assures the second baseman, a laughing undertone. "It was a bit weird but still only a regular dream. We were all practising with wooden bats and there was a flying whale…"

Satoru tunes out after that and instead concentrates on pitching to Miyuki. _So that was Haruichi's…_

Practice continues for a while longer, each time the ball lands in Miyuki's glove giving a satisfying sound.

Soon, too soon, Miyuki stands from his crouch.

"Nice pitching! We're done for today." he calls over to Satoru. He doesn't frown but he is unsatisfied.

Lately, with having to share the mound with many others, Satoru has had more trouble than usual, the line between dreams and reality blurring. It's a little worrisome but the reduced pitching time has also made his eagerness to pitch build up. Now that he's finally gotten his turn, he isn't giving up so fast.

"I can pitch more." he tells Miyuki, voice steady and calm. Just because Sawamura's loud passion has caused his own to rise in response doesn't mean he has to be as open about it.

Miyuki doesn't seem to be convinced. The catcher pinches his lips together until they are nothing but a thin line. Satoru doesn't change his face expression but he can already predict with almost absolute certainty what he will say.

"Just because you can, doesn't mean you should."

No, he really isn't surprised by the refusal but that doesn't mean he likes it. Granted, Satoru is tired, but he rarely isn't. It makes no difference to him if they continue or not, and if has a choice, of course he wants to pitch as much as he can.

"Learn to pace yourself, Furuya." Miyuki adds sternly, taking off his helmet. He holds Satoru's gaze for a moment, the expression behind his glasses unreadable. The strangest thing happens then – everything begins to blur together, colours becoming vivid and bleeding into one another.

Satoru is so surprised, he swiftly breaks eye contact, his breath coming too fast. He shakes his head a little to try and clear it, clutching his glove in one hand and repeating a silent mantra of this is real, this is real, thisisreal **thisisreal** –

"Miyuki Kazuya! Catch for me!"

Sawamura's loud voice and customary phrase cuts through Satoru's frantic internal chant, distracting him from his mounting panic. Both him and Miyuki glance over at an approaching Sawamura, tire in tow.

"Go run some more if you're not tired enough." Miyuki tells him dismissively, already halfway turned around to leave.

Satoru starts to tune out as the two of them begin their usual squabble and makes for the ball crate, steps light and springy, as if he isn't quite real.

This is real.

This is real.

This is –

Satoru reaches out, trembling a little as sweat drops start to build on his forehead. His fingertips touch the cool, smooth surface of a baseball and the rough texture of thread. The relief he feels is immeasurable.

 _It's real._

He straightens up, seeing Miyuki finally walk away and leaving Sawamura fuming. Satoru almost smiles. Feeling unusually light and playful, he sneaks up behind his classmate to grab the tire. The tirade of words that spill out of his noisy fellow pitcher amuse him more than they usually do, causing bright bubbles to rise from somewhere in his middle.

Maybe sharing the mound isn't so bad after all, if Satoru has this feeling to ground him.


End file.
